


Insomniacs

by peepo



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 02:50:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9799505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peepo/pseuds/peepo
Summary: Eiffel has an extreme case of space-horror induced insomnia, and goes to Hilbert for help.Takes place after Extreme Danger Bug. Plot following the episode diverges from canon.Marked as single chapter for now, may or may not add more chapters in the future?





	

       It's been five days since the incident and, as he predicted, Eiffel hasn't slept yet, not really. He's been too paranoid, too distracted by the flickering shadows in his peripheral, too aware of every groan and creak on the station, to feel safe enough to close his eyes.

       Eventually, when he's just too damn exhausted and he physically cannot stay awake any longer, he's only out for a few minutes at a time before he's ripped from slumber, sweating and panting, congealing tears stuck to his face.

       He lets himself try and drift off a few times--maybe five times? It's hard to keep count--before he gives up. He gives himself two options. Option number one: die from sleep deprivation. Option number two: ask Hilbert if he has anything he could take that'd knock him out. Like really _ really  _ knock him out.

       He's not happy about it, but he chooses option two. His quarters are in Node 343,  _ Dexter _ . There's a small corridor connecting Node 336 ( _ Kimball _ ) with arm 4, where Hilbert's main biolab is. Hera says he's in there, not busy, just reading.

       He and Hera chat a bit while he makes his way to Hilbert's lab. She’s really good at distracting him from the insomnia hallucinations.

       He stops at Node 444,  _ Leonard _ . Absentmindedly, he cracks his knuckles, stretches his back, but doesn't move to knock on Hilbert's door. Asking for help is never easy, especially asking  _ Hilbert _ for help. The guy's a nutcase. By willingly letting him put anything in his body, Eiffel's running the risk of a "cigarette lozenges" sequel. But, he is  _ exhausted _ , and desperate. He knocks.

       A minute or two passes before the circular door slides open, "Ah, Officer Eiffel!" Hilbert says, "come in!" If Eiffel didn't know any better, he'd say Hilbert was excited to see him. His stomach twists further into knots at the thought.

       Eiffel follows Hilbert into the center of the cylindrical room. The lab is medium-sized, about the size of an average American living room. Not a millimetre of space is wasted, every available surface is littered with equipment, either attached via velcro, magnets, or stored inside clear plastic bags. It's normal for wires and tubes to line every wall of the Hephaestus, but it feels like there's just so much  _ more _ in this room. Eiffel's been in Hilbert's lab a few times, but each time still feels like the first, there just so much stuff to take in.

       "So. . . what's up, uh, dude. Doc. What's up, man?"

       Hilbert gestures to his left thigh, where a tablet is velcroed to the fabric of his pants. "Reading." He says.

       "Oh, cool." Eiffel looks around, avoiding any kind of eye contact with Hilbert. "What are you-"

       "Eiffel, don’t beat around bush. What do you want?"

       Eiffel sighs and drops his gaze to his socked feet, floating about half a meter above contact with the “south” wall. A moment passes before Eiffel finally speaks, and it's barely above a whisper, "I've, uh," he shoves his hands in the pockets of his blue sweats, "I've been having trouble sleeping."

       "Da. Is evident from your," Hilbert gestures a circular motion at Eiffel's face, "all of this."

       "Yeah." Eiffel still hasn't looked up from his socks.

       "I can give you benzodiazepine, if you'd like. Helps with sleep."

       "Yeah. Yes, please."

       When Eiffel looks up, Hilbert is searching through a drawer on the far wall.

       Hilbert’s muttering to himself in some sort of language, it  _ could  _ be English? Eiffel isn’t too sure. The words all sound jumbled together. He starts to daze off, not really thinking of anything just, floating. His eyelids grow heavier and heavier, and he’s _ just _ about to drift off when--

       Something  _ solid  _ flickers in the corner of his vision and it takes every fucking ounce of his willpower to resist reacting. Suddenly he feels very frozen, stuck. If something attacked him right now, he’d be fucked. He’s not touching anything, he has nothing to push against to get away, he’d just be stuck floating a foot and a half from the closest solid surface.

       He can hear his heartbeat pounding in his head and it’s  _ all  _ he can hear. He can’t hear Hilbert anymore, or the humming of the station, or the beeping of machines, he can’t even hear the wet creaks of the damn plant monster in the air vents. His chest is heaving and he’s very aware of how fucking cold his lungs are but he doesn’t care, all he cares about is the shadows just out of reach of his focus.

       Something touches his arm and he shrieks, flinching back. Instinctively, he curls in on himself. Through the suffocating pulse in his head and the rapid breath in his lungs, he hears a muddled jumble of words. It’s his name, he know’s someone is saying his name.

       He wants to close his eyes, to stop seeing the hallucinations but some stupid, irrational part of him can’t stop looking at the shadows. He doesn’t know if it’s morbid curiosity, or sheer terror.

       Now something touches his back, and it’s no less startling than before. He hardens, trying to squeeze his legs closer, trying to curl his body tighter. He doesn’t know when he started shaking but he’s really feeling it now, tremors all across his body.

       The something on his back--It’s somebody’s hand, someone--Hilbert. Hilbert is rubbing little circles into his back, soothing him.

       “-ere, Eiffel,” he tries to focus on the words rather than his heartbeat, “--kay. It’s okay Eiffel, I’m here--.”

       “Is he okay?!” He faintly hears Hera ask, confused and scared.

       Desperately, he wheezes out a few ghosts of a pathetic attempt at an apology.

       “No need. Don’t be sorry. Just focus on breathing.”

       Eiffel makes himself hold his breath for ten seconds, then releases. He repeats, and repeats, until the roaring in his head dissipates into a dull thud and the fires in his lungs simmer down to coals. The hallucinations are still creeping in the edges of his vision, but they’re gradually becoming less solid, less real now that he knows he’s not alone.

       His whole body is still trembling when he reaches out, blindly grabbing until he has a fistful of a sleeve of Hilbert’s hoodie.

       “God,” he chokes out, “I’m gonna--” a gag rising up the back of his throat cuts him off.

       Hilbert’s quick to react, pushing off from the “south” wall to throw open a drawer on the opposing wall. He’s back at Eiffel’s side in an instant, holding a barf bag up to his face. Eiffel grips the bag hard with both hands and starts heaving. A hand returns to his back, rubbing those soothing circles into it again.

       Once done, he wipes his face off with the liner of the bag, pushes everything in, and zips the bag closed.

       Curled in on himself once again, Eiffel closes his eyes--takes a moment to just breathe. Hilbert’s hand on his back doesn’t stop its motions until he uncurls, and even then, the warm hand stays pressed against him. Eiffel lets himself lean into it, and sighs.

       “Officer Eiffel,” Hilbert starts, quiet and hesitant, “are you. . .”

       “Eiffel! What happened? Are you alright?” Hera asks, obviously still shaken and anxious.

       Wiping his eyes with his sleeve, Eiffel clears his throat. “I’m okay, guys,” he croaks, “thanks for the concern.”

       “What was that?” She asks.

       “I just. I don’t know. I thought I saw something and I--I guess I panicked.”

       “The only living thing in that room is you and Dr. Hilbert, I don’t--”

       “I know. I know. I just, it was, I don’t know.” Eiffel sighs again. He looks down at his hands, the barf bag still in the loose grip of his left. “Hera, can I talk to Hilbert alone for a minute? Y’know, like, patient-doctor confidentiality and stuff.”

       “Okay Eiffel, I’ll be here if you need me.”

       Taking a moment to think, Eiffel uses Hilbert as a leverage to turn around and face him.

       “My mouth tastes like Shrek’s balls.” He says, finally.

       Suppressing a smile, Hilbert floats over to the “west” wall. He returns a moment later with a bag of water and some homemade breath mints.

       “Here. You take this,” they swap items, “I’ll throw away barf bag.”

       Eiffel gasps, “How long have you had breath mints?”

       “When you stole last tube of toothpaste, I thought it necessary to make  _ something  _ as substitute.”

       “How could you be keeping this from me?” Eiffel says a face of mock-hurt, or maybe it’s genuine hurt. Either way, Hilbert doesn’t like it on Eiffel. Any kind of ‘hurt’ doesn’t look good on him.

       Hilbert just shrugs in response, before floating away to dispose of the barf bag. When he returns, Eiffel has taken the breath mints, and is graciously slurping down water.

       “Eiffel, we need to talk about what happened.”

       Eiffel swallows a big gulp of water, and looks away from Hilbert. His stomach flips and twists. He should probably keep another barf bag handy.

       “I think I’m going crazy.” He says, sounding resigned and utterly defeated. Hilbert waits for him to continue. “Lately, the past few months. Well, really, since,” he struggles, but Hilbert is patient, and waits for him to gather his thoughts. “Since we were on Earth I guess? I’ve been having trouble sleeping. Being in space hasn’t made it any easier. It’s actually made it a lot worse, believe it or not.”

       Hilbert waits a moment for him to continue, when he doesn’t, he asks, “what kind of trouble?”

       Eiffel shrugs. “I don’t know. Like, before a few days ago, I’d have a really hard time falling asleep, and when I do finally pass out, I’m only out for like, three hours at a time? It sucked, but it was manageable.” He fidgets with his hands, and cracks his knuckles. “But ever since, y’know,” a minute shiver briefly runs down his spine, “what happened in that creepy hidden lab, with the. . .  _ Extreme danger bug _ . . . I haven’t really slept? Since then?”

       Cautiously, Hilbert reaches out to touch Eiffel’s shoulder. “Eiffel, are you saying that you haven’t slept in,” he checks his wristwatch, “five and a half days?” He asks, sounding almost astonished.

       “Yeah, I mean. Occasionally I can get half an hour in, but it usually ends up in an episode like that. With the hallucinations, and the panic attack, I mean. Hera’s seen it happen only a couple times, but I’m usually in my room when it happens and she can’t really see into there, so. . . Yeah. . .” His sentence trails off, like he lost it mid-thought.

       Shadows start creeping into the edges of his vision again, startlingly fast. He grabs onto Hilbert’s sweatshirt, to find a sort of grounding. Hilbert watches as Eiffel’s eyes gloss over, like he’s distancing himself from reality.

       “Eiffel, Eiffel, is it happening again?” Hilbert reaches one hand up to cup Eiffel’s cheek, the other to his back.

       Unfocused and disconnected, Eiffel absently nods.

       “It’s okay,” Hilbert says, annunciating each word carefully, so Eiffel understands, “you’re okay, Eiffel. It’s not real. It is just a hallucination.”

       “I know,” Eiffel mutters, “god, I want to sleep.”

       “Okay,” Hilbert rubs his thumb across Eiffel’s cheek, “I can give you sedative.”

       “Sweet.”

 

       After Eiffel takes the sedative, Hilbert walks him back to his quarters, a steady hand on his back the whole time. They shoot the shit about nothing important. Hilbert is absolutely itching to ask for further clarification about Eiffel’s symptoms. But, he’s had enough for today, he needs to relax and sleep now.

       Their conversation ends at Eiffel’s door, but Hilbert doesn’t remove his hand from Eiffel’s back. Neither of them want him to.

       “You’re going to be okay, Eiffel. Just rest, Hera will alert me if anything happens,” with heavy reluctance, he drops his hand from Eiffel’s back, “I’m going to go back to--”

       “Wait.” Eiffel, a hint of slur in his speech from the sedative, reaches to stop Hilbert from turning away. “I don’t wanna be alone.”

       “You will not be alone, Hera is always--”

       “S’not what I mean.”

       Hilbert looks into Eiffel’s tired eyes, and ponders his options for a moment. The implication makes Hilbert’s stomach flutter. “Okay.”

       Eiffel grabs Hilbert’s hand and pulls him into his quarters.

       All crew quarters on the Hephaestus provide the standard 2.5 m^3 interior volume. All six walls are built from ultra-high molecular weight polyethelyne, with white acoustic blanket covers. Each crew quarters has two foldable stowage racks and two drawers. And, each crew quarters has a large sleeping bag the color of their choosing. Eiffel chose navy blue.

       It’s expected that crew members personalize their space, and, “personalize” Eiffel did. Barely an inch of white is visible under all the photographs and small posters Eiffel has taped everywhere. His decor ranges from printed out photos of Liam Neeson, to baby pictures of his daughter. There are at least twenty pictures of various cats. Dozens of photographs of beautiful landscapes: Lake Tahoe, CA., Cranberry Grade railroads in West VA., Fenway Park MA., an orange sunset in Houston TX., the Seattle skyline during a Seahawks vs. 49ers game.

       He even has their Expedition 052 mission photo hidden amongst the collection.

       One of his stowage racks is ajar, revealing his laptop (every square millimeter covered in stickers), an expensive looking camera, and various pieces of disassembled electronics floating haphazardly. Strapped to the door of the closed stowage rack is a brown ukulele with handwritten messages all over the surface, each message from a different person. They say things like, “We’ll miss you! Don’t die in the air force!” and “Class of 2K!” The uke had to be at least twelve years old.

       Eiffel crawls into his sleeping bag, pulling Hilbert in behind him. He has two pillows, Eiffel hands the one with the Red Sox insignia printed on the case to Hilbert. Eiffel hugs the other one, with just plain blue stripes on the case, to his head.

       With shaking hands, Hilbert zips the sleeping bag closed. He lets out a shuddering breath he didn’t know he was holding before gathering his courage to turn and face Eiffel. Eiffel is on his side, looking at him with a sleepy smile and even sleepier eyes. They’re pressed together so tightly, all warm skin and nauseating butterflies.

       “Hey,” Eiffel murmurs. He grabs Hilbert’s hand under the bag.

       They look into each other's eyes for what Hilbert assumes is an eternity. Eiffel starts to lean in and now it’s Hilbert’s turn to really panic. Their noses bump together and he’s sure Eiffel can hear his heartbeat pounding against his chest.

       Slowly, Eiffel brushes their lips together, not really kissing, just  _ feeling. _

       Eiffel leans in just a bit further, and gently presses his lips fully against Hilberts. The longest, most euphoric three seconds of Hilbert’s life passes before he really processes what’s happening. He lets instinct work for him and hesitantly starts kissing Eiffel back. Everything feels like both absolute zero and a trillion degrees all at once. The skin touching Eiffel’s feels charged with a whole powerplants worth of electricity. Instinct compels Hilbert to grab the back of Eiffel’s head and hold him as close and he can possibly get. So he does. Eiffel thinks that’s a great idea and swings his leg over Hilbert’s lap, pulling them impossibly closer.

       They can only stay there kissing for a few minutes (years to Hilbert), before Eiffel pulls away.

       He tucks his head under Hilbert’s chin, feeling Hilbert’s rapid heartbeat against his temple.

       “Thank you,” he murmurs before finally falling asleep.

       Hilbert catches his breath as quietly as he can as Eiffel goes limp in his arms. Hours pass before Hilbert finally falls asleep too.

  
  



End file.
